【Da Yin】3

Chapter 1 ◆ The wind
blew across the river, rustling the reeds and making a soft "shush" sound, mixed with the popping of the flowing water, making the place seem even more silent.
The sound of rats was now completely gone, and even the two women, Salra and Lilith, were no longer afraid.
Wood and Tamor stood up, gazing into the distance on tiptoe.
Although they could only see a few flickering lights, it didn't stop them from imagining the tragic scene in the village; they now wished the earthen fortress would be breached by the rats.
Only the four of them were in this temporary hideout. Nice wasn't there; he was tending a fire in a small earthen cave more than 300 meters from the riverbank. The entrance was small and now sealed off with mud, its winding interior designed to prevent any light from escaping.
The fire was at the very back, burning branches and leaves—things that were everywhere. A neat pile of things sat in the center of the fire.
A makeshift chimney had been dug into the cave's ceiling, its flue angled at a 90-degree angle, so there was no need to worry about the firelight leaking out.
Nice had gone to great lengths to avoid revealing his whereabouts. He had to guard against both the rats and the villagers. He waited until dark to act because doing so during the day would create more smoke that would be harder to manage.
Estimating the time was right, Nice grabbed some dry soil he had prepared and threw it into the fire, quickly extinguishing it.
The earthen cave was filled with thick smoke, which, unable to escape through the chimney, began to seep out from the sealed opening. Only the area around Nice remained completely free of smoke, as if covered by a transparent dome.
After a short while, the smoke cleared, and he picked up a branch from the ground to disperse the remaining smoke from the fire.
There were twenty or thirty of these things, about half a foot long and two fingers wide. A light tap with a twig and the outer shell crumbled instantly.
That shell was hardened silt from the fire, and inside were pieces of dried wood, now blackened charcoal.
Nice carefully picked out the still-scalding charcoal piece by piece and placed them on a dry cloth—actually Sarah's skirt; he had to use whatever he had.
After wrapping all the charcoal, Nice picked up a stone and began smashing it forcefully.
Each strike produced a crisp sound from inside the cloth, and in no time, the charcoal strips turned to powder. However, many lumps remained—the parts that hadn't yet carbonized.
Unwrapping the cloth bag, Nice carefully picked out and discarded the lumps. Then, he pulled out another cloth bag containing what appeared to be some powder, which he mixed with charcoal.
It was a packet of rosin.
During the day, he had collected a lot of rosin from withered pine trees; rosin mixed with charcoal made a good fuel.
He had always been very interested in fuels, collecting recipes from all over, and now he had at least thirty or forty recipes.
Charcoal powder with rosin was the most common recipe used by the military; rosin was added because it was highly flammable, it would ignite upon contact with fire, and charcoal was added to make it burn more vigorously.
With a few tearing sounds, the extra piece of cloth was ripped open and torn into six pieces. Nice divided the prepared incendiary into six piles, then wrapped them up. The tightly wrapped bundle was only the size of a papaya, which he casually hung on his waist.
The leather belt around his waist was specially made, bulging and full of hooks for hiding things. The belt itself was also a scabbard, inside which was his soft sword. On both sides were two rows of knife boxes, neatly arranged with his throwing knives.
Slipping out of the burrow and back to his hiding place, Nice called his four followers together and whispered, "Wood, Tamor, you two come with me. Sarah, Lilith, you stay here."
"Master, what are you planning to do? You're not going to rescue those ungrateful bastards, are you?"
Tamor's voice trembled at the thought of leaving.
"We must take this opportunity to find out the real cause of the rat infestation,"
Nice said, finding a plausible explanation.
This wasn't the real explanation; the real explanation was that he'd had a strange feeling since yesterday, as if something was inexplicably drawing him in.
During the day, he used his not-so-skilled divination to predict his fate. The prediction was that crisis concealed opportunity, and this opportunity was definitely significant, no less so than a trip to the Holy Land.
He knew best what the Holy Land had brought him; upon returning, his strength had increased dramatically, equivalent to two years of hardship, not to mention the benefits of knowing Prince Philip and Cardinal Elmar. Compared to these, the Crown of Thorns and the money were merely external possessions.
Now, a soul-stirring opportunity was before him; how could he possibly let it slip away?
He had made so many preparations during the day—digging a tunnel, searching for rosin, and making a helmet—all for the sake of what was to come.
Forcing Wood and Tamor out of their hiding place, Niss had already prepared his divine spell. He rubbed his fingers on their eyelids.
The two men felt the night was no longer as dark as before, as if a candle had been lit, at least they could see things up close.
This spell was called "Low-Light Vision," and its effect was only so-so, at best useful for traveling. There were many spells with better effects. Legend has it that God created "light" first, so a large proportion of the church's spells were related to "light."
Unfortunately, he had chosen two very uncommon guardian angels whose functions were completely unrelated to "light," making this his weakness.
Niss also rubbed his eyes twice.
He led two followers, barely able to see the path, very cautiously around the valley, heading towards a distant cliff.
The strange feeling emanated from this direction; the closer they got, the stronger the feeling, the more intense the ghostly aura of danger.
As they neared the cliff, his heart leaped into his throat. With his dim vision, he could vaguely see countless rats swarming below. Forcing their way through was impossible; he didn't have Palm's abilities.
Niss flicked a handful of dust and observed the wind direction.
It was blowing from the north.
He led his two followers south until they reached a small hill to the south, where a natural platform rose more than two meters above the surrounding area, making it a strategically advantageous and easily defensible position.
"You two keep an eye on your surroundings,"
Niss said to those behind him.
The two followers nodded repeatedly. At this point, they had no other thoughts; survival depended on their lives.
Niss pulled the last two packets of Madness Powder from his pocket and tossed them high into the air. Immediately afterward, he casually threw two throwing knives.
He didn't rely on eyesight to throw the knives; it was entirely based on instinct, an ability stemming from his inherited martial spirit.
With two soft "plop" sounds, the two packets of powder were slashed open by a sharp blade, and the powder inside instantly scattered, raining down on the cliff.
These two packets of Madness Powder were his last remaining stock, and the reason he dared to come here.
Standing on the stone platform, Nice began chanting an incantation, and a dim red light instantly illuminated the cliff. Due to the wind, the powder was blown too far apart, and its effect was naturally much weaker.
After a dozen seconds, a tearing sound finally rang out from below the cliff, growing louder and louder as more and more rats began to fight each other.
Suddenly, two piercing screams echoed from the top of the cliff, extremely ear-piercing. Nice felt as if two sharp knives were scraping across his head, his head throbbing with pain, and his vision blurred.
Even he couldn't bear it; his two followers fared even worse. Wood clutched his head, lying on the ground, screaming in agony, while Tamor rolled around on the ground.
When the horrifying sounds subsided, Nice's face was deathly pale, his forehead covered in cold sweat.
When Palm came, he had said that this wasn't a naturally occurring rat infestation; the most likely explanation was that some rats had mutated into magical beasts.
It seemed his guess was correct; the shrill cry must have come from the demon rat.
"Prepare for battle!"
Nice shouted, turning his head.
At the same time, he pulled a packet of incendiary from his waist and threw it a considerable distance. Then, with a flick of his wrist, his homemade crossbow appeared in his hand, a small flame already lit at the tip.
A streak of fire shot out. The inch-long arrow transformed into a burning meteor, its slender shaft spitting out brilliant flames, leaving a trail of fire several feet long behind it.
Just like the throwing knife that had pierced the packet of powder, this burning arrow also pierced the cloth bag filled with incendiary.
The fireball exploded in mid-air, instantly transforming into countless sparks that rained down on the cliff face like a fine, ethereal drizzle.
The valley was now littered with fallen leaves, uprooted shrubs, and snapped trees—all completely dry and ready to ignite at the slightest spark.
In the blink of an eye, the entire cliff was engulfed in flames.
By the firelight, one could vaguely see the frenzied rats still tearing at the flames, completely oblivious to their fear of fire. Meanwhile, the rats that hadn't gone mad seemed guided by some unknown force, charging fearlessly into the inferno, devouring the burning trees, dragging away the burning shrubs and leaves, quickly clearing a firebreak.
Watching their practiced movements, Nice finally understood why the area hadn't been completely burned by the wildfire—it was all thanks to these rats.
The fire was quickly brought under control, but only to prevent its spread; the burning area continued to burn, and the flames grew stronger.
Gradually, the cliff top, previously hidden in darkness, was finally exposed to the firelight.
In the firelight, a rat lay there, an incredibly large rat, about the size of a dog, with a round and plump body.
Although its appearance was comical, this rat exuded a terrifying aura.
The rat moved.
When Nice saw its spirit, it sensed Nice's presence. It walked slowly and deliberately towards them with small, hurried steps.
As it stepped into the swarm of crazed rats, the surrounding rats instinctively lunged forward to tear at it.
A shocking scene unfolded: all the rats that pounced were repelled, turning into a cloud of blood mist in mid-air.
The smell of blood further fueled the frenzied rats; the maddening drug made them abnormally sensitive to the smell, and more rats with bloodshot eyes charged towards their king.
Charge, be repelled, turn into a cloud of blood mist—this cycle repeated endlessly. Where the giant rat passed, only a path paved with blood and bits of flesh remained.
The raging flames seemed unable to stop its advance; it was utterly unafraid of fire.
The smell of ghostly blood and burnt flesh aroused the ferocity of the large rat. It glared angrily in the direction of Nice, seemingly knowing the culprit was there.
Stepping out of the firebreak, it stood on its hind legs like a human, emitting a series of squeaks.
The horde of rats that had filled the valley retreated at the sound of the squeaks, surging towards the ridge where Nice was hiding like a tidal wave of ghosts.
Seeing this, the two henchmen were already trembling with fear; their "battle prayers" were no longer enough to suppress their terror.
Fortunately, Nice remained relatively calm. He opened the remaining packets of incendiary material and scattered them in all directions.
Fiery meteors streaked through the air, piercing the cloth bundle in mid-air and turning the incendiary agent inside into a rain of fire.
In an instant, the area around the mountain was engulfed in flames, the fire rapidly spreading in all directions.
The swarm of rats crashed into the inferno, and countless rats were instantly swallowed by the flames. The remaining rats quickly realized what was happening and formed another firebreak.
However, this prevented them from attacking the humans separated by the fire, as ordered by the "King."
The giant rat screeched angrily. Possessing intelligence far exceeding that of spirits, it immediately understood that relying on its subordinates to deal with the enemies was impossible; it had to act personally.
Still taking small, hurried steps, the giant rat slowly made its way towards Nice.
As soon as it entered the sea of fire, it sensed something flying towards it. Rats generally have poor eyesight, and so did it; the demonic transformation hadn't enhanced its vision.
One dagger struck, hitting its neck with extraordinary precision.
The dagger slid away, leaving the large rat completely unharmed.
Another dagger flew towards it, this time aimed at its eyes.
The large rat still didn't even flinch, merely blinking its tiny, beady eyes.
The dagger touched its eyelid, then slid away without any resistance.
Two consecutive missed attacks didn't surprise Nex.
He could clearly see the frenzied rats that had pounced on him earlier being instantly deflected into a cloud of blood mist.
The giant rat's skin shimmered with magic, the flow of which formed a mysterious magic circle. Any bite or impact would only create a ripple.
Those two strikes were merely a test.
Under the "Eye of Sight," he saw another series of ripples rise from the blade, especially the one that struck the eye; the eerie ripples spread outwards in all directions, as if the eyelid were part of the same body. It seemed the giant rat had no weaknesses whatsoever.
He sheathed the throwing knife, flicked his wrist, and pulled out a small paper tube. As he retracted his robe, he also retrieved everything, including the burning adhesive.
This stuff burns almost as well as rosin and charcoal powder, but its most remarkable feature is its incredible stickiness. Once you're stuck, you can't shake it off.
He opened the paper tubes and tossed them out; each tube contained five pieces of burning adhesive, which transformed into five blazing fireballs in mid-air.
The moment Nice made his move, he seemed to see the giant rat laughing, a mocking laugh.
Still unfazed, the giant rat let the burning adhesive hit its body. Strange ripples spread again; the sticky substance, once it stuck, had absolutely no effect on its fur, sliding past like water droplets on a lotus leaf without any hindrance.
Even this tactic failed, and Nice was dumbfounded. He hadn't felt this desperate when he encountered the pack of wolves before.
Suddenly, the large rat vanished from his sight.
Before Nice could react, a gust of wind blew in his face, followed by a sharp pain in his left arm.
Suddenly, the large rat darted in front of him, biting his left arm. Its two front teeth, each over a foot long, easily pierced the chainmail and tore through his arm.
Nice cried out in pain, desperately trying to pull his arm back. To his surprise, the rat released its grip. Before he could even figure out what was happening, a sharp pain shot through his leg.
At this point, Nice realized the rat was toying with him and didn't intend to kill him outright.
As he tried to break free, a hunting spear came hurtling towards his neck. It was Wood wielding the spear.
Nice's eyes widened. He absolutely couldn't believe Wood would betray him at this moment, but what he saw in Wood's eyes wasn't hatred, but astonishment.
A series of sparks and a piercing metallic clang rang out as the spear slashed towards Nice's shoulder. His two layers of chainmail blocked the fatal blow, thanks in part to Wood's timely withdrawal.
Wood was about to explain when Tamor's spear swept towards him from the side.
This time, Nice saw clearly that Tamor hadn't done it intentionally; the spearhead had been forced off course because it was embedded in the large rat.
Nice drew his soft sword, gripping the hilt with his right hand and his injured left hand, enduring the excruciating pain, gripping the tip. The soft sword instantly became a tangled thread. The use of the tangled thread involves cutting, pulling, scraping, strangling, twisting, locking, and entanglement—all things that other weapons cannot do. It's not particularly powerful, but trying to deflect such attacks is simply impossible.
"Be careful, don't use too much force. Our attacks will be deflected by this thing; too much force will only hurt our own people,"
he warned Wood and Tamor.
The two followers understood, and the giant rat-like creature understood as well. The magical beast Rose possessed a special ability: it could understand human language. It wanted to prove that it wasn't just capable of deflecting attacks.
The creature suddenly curled into a ball, then transformed into a blurry shadow, hurtling towards Nice. Nice only had time to cross his arms to protect his chest before he was sent flying, thrown a considerable distance.
He crashed heavily to the ground, unable to get up for a moment. The injury was severe; his left arm, already bitten through, was now even worse, the bone undoubtedly broken. The intense pain caused his cheeks to twitch.
Suddenly, he heard a scream—Wood's voice. Wood was sent flying like a ghost, slamming heavily against the mountainside. By the time he slid down the cliff, he was motionless.
Nice hurriedly chanted the prayer for "healing." He could barely use this divine spell now, and the effect was minimal, enough to keep him alive.
Only Tamor remained standing, but the guy was completely terrified and didn't dare move. It was quite courageous of him not to turn and run away.
The large rat squinted at Nice, showing no hurry, letting Nice complete the spell.
A beam of white light shot from Nice's fingertips, piercing Wood's body as he lay on the ground—it was a needle.
As the holy power gathered on the needle seeped into his body, Wood's weak heart began to beat again. Although he was still struggling to breathe, and blood was frothing at the mouth, he was much better than before.
Nice also inserted a needle into his own body, and the healing spell quickly replenished his wounds. Although it wouldn't heal for a while, it wasn't as painful as before.
Just as he finished casting his spell, the giant rat moved again, its movements as swift as ever, disappearing in an instant.
Nice was once again sent flying, his back slamming against the burning trees, sparks flying and flames leaping in its wake. The giant rat seemed very pleased; it enjoyed watching its prey struggle in pain.
It leaped forward again, and in that instant, Nice let out a meow: "Meow—" The giant rat visibly stiffened in mid-air. Although it had become a magical beast, its innate animal instincts remained.
This momentary stiffness determined the fate of both sides. A fist carrying many sharp throwing knives flashed into its mouth.
The giant rat had the ability to deflect attacks, but its mouth was like a cylinder; no matter how much it deflected, it remained inside.
Both sides moved at breakneck speed. In almost an instant, Nice's entire arm was shoved inside. The sharp blade tore through the rat's internal organs in a flash. He also held a soft sword in his hand, its incredibly thin blade sliding completely into the rat's body. As the rat struggled, the blade twisted erratically, tearing open more and larger wounds.
The rat was struggling in agony, and Nice was suffering too. His arm was in excruciating pain. Even in its dying moments, the rat wanted to keep his arm. Its foot-long incisors relentlessly gnawed at his arm, each bite leaving a gaping hole.
Not only was his arm bitten through, but the immense impact also sent Nice and the giant rat flying far away, crashing heavily into a burning tree.
The tree collapsed with a thud; it had already been bitten off at the root, but it had managed to stay upright by supporting itself against other withered branches.
It was fortunate that this was the case; if it had crashed into him directly, it would most likely have killed Nice—poor Wood was the best proof of that.
Nice felt as if every bone in his body had shifted, and his internal organs had been turned upside down. The raging fire around him terrified him. He tried to stand up, but he had no strength left.
Lying on the ground, he weakly chanted the "Healing Spell" again, then patted three needles onto his body before finally feeling a little better.
Only then did he realize that the surrounding flames seemed unable to harm him. He glanced at the large rat hanging on his right arm; without a doubt, it was related to this creature, as he had nothing on him to protect against fire.
Getting up, Nice slowly made his way inside.
A series of hurried footsteps sounded, and Tamor finally ran over, staring at the large rat in horror, seemingly trying to confirm if it was truly dead.
After a long pause, he finally said, with disbelief, "You killed it. You really killed it."
"It's nothing special," Nys said, trying to appear calm, "Richard I once locked himself in a cage with a hungry lion, who wanted to eat him. He stuck his bare hands into its gaping maw and pulled out its heart. I've heard that story countless times since I was a child."
He tried to appear as calm as possible, because all heroes were like that.
But inside, he was overjoyed and wanted to do a few somersaults. The Lionheart was an eternal hero in the hearts of children; everyone hoped to have the chance to perform such a heroic feat, but many thought it, few actually did it, and most imitators ended up in the lion's belly.
"How's Wood?"
Nice finally had a moment to check on his men.
"It's bad. He's probably broken all his ribs."
Tamor's legs were still trembling. He regretted his cowardice.
He knew very well that if Wood survived this time, he would be appreciated and his future would be much brighter than his own. But the thought of Wood's terrible condition immediately dashed any envy he felt.
"Cat, get up. Let's go to him. The stone platform is the safest place,"
Nice commanded.
"I'll get this down for you,"
Tamor said, trying his best to make up for his earlier hesitation.
Unfortunately, Nice wasn't appreciative. He was angry and didn't have a good impression of this coward: "Don't waste your energy. Can't you see it's already bitten through my arm? Its teeth are stuck in my arm bone."
Of course, this wasn't the truth.
He wanted to wait for Palm to arrive with reinforcements, to show others his current state—such a feat needed to be appreciated.
Nice sat half-sitting, half-lying down, with Wood beside him, while Tamor looked around fearfully.
With the Rat King dead, all the rats seemed to have received a signal; they stopped attacking and scattered in all directions, now the hillside was covered with rats.
The fire was still burning, but because there was a firebreak around it, there was no need to worry about the fire spreading, and the rats dared not approach. The only uncomfortable thing was the stifling heat.
"All the torches over there have gone out,"
Tamor said, pointing towards the earthen fort.
He did this with a hidden agenda; he wanted to use the villagers' betrayal to lessen his earlier hesitation. He wanted the old priest to know that although he was a coward, a useless thing, at least he was loyal.
Tamor achieved his goal. Looking at the dark earthen fort in the distance, Nice maliciously speculated about the situation there, hoping it was as bad as possible—a punishment for the betrayal.
Wood's groan pulled Nice from his malicious thoughts.
"Cat, get up,"
Nice commanded Tamor. "Now let's pray!"
Tamor obediently complied.
"Merciful Lord, praise be to your mercy, praise be to your compassion, your comfort dispels the pain, your—" Nis knelt there, praying silently, and golden light emanated from all three of them.
The prayer at this moment was not for restoring holy power, but for healing the wounds; in the state of prayer, divine magic could continue to take effect.
This was the only way he could keep Wood alive. Although there was no significant improvement, the healing spells replenished Wood's lost life force, keeping him on the verge of death.
Nice felt much better; both arms were itchy, a sign of healing wounds, and the pain was less noticeable. However, the large rat on his right arm was a burden, making it impossible for him to even lift his hand. Nice suddenly froze
, noticing something strange: wisps of magic were emanating from the dead rat, and this magic was gradually transferring into his body as he prayed.
He stopped praying, and the magic began to dissipate.
Nice quickly resumed praying, and sure enough, the magic entered his body once more.
This was definitely not the effect of prayer. If prayer had such an effect, the Church wouldn't be so hostile towards magicians. The Church always shows goodwill towards people or things that are useful.
Nise's heart skipped a beat. He had already guessed that this might be related to that special meditation technique. Since that meditation technique could steal the holy power from the sacred mark, it wasn't hard to imagine that it could steal magical power.
While surprised, Nise also felt unusually frustrated.
He was like a starving child facing a roasted elephant; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't eat more than a tenth of it because his stomach could only hold so much.
Magical power flowed into his body continuously, and then flowed out continuously as well.
Unlike mages, monsters don't have as many methods; they only possess a few innate abilities. However, they have advantages that mages can't match: their innate abilities are far more powerful than soul-type magic, casting spells instantly and at will. Another advantage is that their magical power is much denser than a mage's.
Watching the magical power drain away, Nice felt a pang of regret; he wished he could absorb it all back.
Just then, another strange thing happened: the surrounding plants suddenly began to grow wildly. The magical power escaping from him was rapidly absorbed by the plants, and the soul power was transformed into the driving force for continued growth.
In the blink of an eye, the once barren rocks were covered by plants.
What shocked him even more was that the rampant plants began to spread in all directions, rapidly occupying the burning area. The raging flames did nothing to stop their growth; instead, they made them grow even more luxuriantly.
Tamor didn't know what was happening. He knelt there stiffly, his body trembling uncontrollably. Humans always feel fear towards things they cannot understand.
Nice looked around in astonishment. He knew where the plants came from. There were plant seeds in the mud on his body. He was wearing a reed raincoat, and his helmet was made of willow branches. All of these things had been picked during the day, and their vitality had not yet completely dissipated.
The unabsorbed magic was now circulating wildly, and under the "Eye of Revelation," he saw a massive magic circle, tens of acres in diameter, floating in the air, centered on him.
No one told him what was happening; he only knew it was related to his talent—his second talent had awakened, a gift from another pagan deity.
There were many deities associated with plants; even a minor god who controlled mountains and rivers might possess such abilities.
Among the powerful deities worshipped, the first ones that came to mind were the goddess of grain and the goddess of the forest. Besides them, even the useless god of wine had ties to plants.
He also thought of two other deities.
One is Gaia, the Earth Mother, whose power is boundless. Everything that grows on the earth, whether plant or animal, even beasts and monsters, natural or non-natural, falls under her jurisdiction.
The other is Venus, the goddess of love. Although she has no direct relationship with plants, she governs growth and reproduction.
There is a way for him to know the answer.
Each god has a corresponding symbol.
Nis closed his eyes, his hands drawing a mysterious rune—in the darkness, he vaguely saw a glimmer of light at his feet.
He touched it with his injured left hand; it felt like he was stepping on a flower. He opened his eyes and saw a wild rose, the rose representing Venus, the goddess of love.
Another useless god, even more useless than Mercury.
Ness gently picked up the night rose and twirled it between his fingertips. The petals of the rose immediately flew away, and each petal was divided into two pieces, and then divided into four pieces - in the blink of an eye, petals were all flying around.
He had become convinced, unintentionally, that the second gift was the gift of love.
At this moment, he was casting an illusion. It had never had such an effect before. At most, it could transform one rose petal into eight. Now it is much more powerful.
Illusion and mental control are the areas in which the goddess of love is best at. These two abilities are completely useless to gods. All gods are immune to illusion and mental control, so her strength ranks at the bottom among the gods.
However, these two abilities are definitely not bad for humans. Humans are not immune to illusions and mental control.
He had always been interested in illusion, and this awakening of his talent greatly enhanced his strength. No wonder the divination during the day told him that this gain was comparable to his trip to the Holy Land.
Suddenly, he remembered something else: illusion wasn't just about sight; hearing and other senses could also be interfered with.
"Come here, take a little blood from me."
Nice gave the order to Tamor beside him. He now realized that having someone who could move was a good thing.
Tamor didn't know what Nice wanted to do, but he quickly did as he was told. He didn't want to give the priest the impression that he was disobedient; that was his only asset.
Getting blood was very easy; Nice had it all over his body.
Tamor searched for a long time but couldn't find a suitable container.
"What are you looking for? Just wipe it off with your hands,"
Nice scolded.
Tamor frantically felt around on Nice's right shoulder; there was the most blood there, some from the large rat, and some from Nice himself.
"Give me your hand,"
Nice commanded again.
Tamor, puzzled, held out his blood-soaked hand to his master.
Chanting an incantation, after a moment, Nice suddenly exhaled, and the bloodstains instantly turned into a blood mist that enveloped Tamor, the thick stench of blood making it almost impossible for him to breathe.
"This thing can protect you from the rats. Go quickly to Sharla's and call them both over. Wood needs someone to look after him,"
Nice revealed his true purpose.
Upon hearing this, Tamor's legs went weak. The mountains outside were teeming with rats; sending him alone would be suicide. But not doing so would be disobeying orders, and the priest wouldn't let him off the hook.
Just as he hesitated, Nice added, "Time is running out. If you delay, being eaten by those rats is your own problem."
This was both a reassurance and a way of putting pressure on him.
Tamor steeled himself and rushed out. He suddenly realized that if he disobeyed orders and was kicked out, he would still be eaten by the rats; obeying orders, at least, offered a glimmer of hope.
Seeing Tamor disappear into the darkness, Nice breathed a sigh of relief. If Tamor didn't comply, he really had no other choice.
Half an hour later, hurried footsteps echoed in the darkness.
Three people ran over, Tamor in the middle, his heavy breathing audible from afar. Lilith and Sarah could be vaguely seen on either side of him, practically clinging to him.
"It's too dark—they—can't see—the road—" Tamor explained between breaths. Although he used to play with these two women often, they now belonged to the men, and he had to explain why he even touched them.
"No need to explain, I understand,"
Nice said, unconcerned. He wasn't the unreasonable type.
"I'm too tired and need to rest. Tamor, you're in charge of guard duty; Sarah, you watch over Wood. If he has any problems, wake me up; Lilith, you keep an eye on Tamor and Sarah's work at the library. If they get too tired and doze off, remind them,"
Nice gave his final instructions.
At dawn, a slight tremor came from the ground.
Nice woke with a start. He opened his eyes, knowing it was the tremor from the horses' hooves. He looked around.
Tamor was tending a fire, his eyes bloodshot. Lilith and Sarah had dark circles under their eyes. All three were exhausted. Wood remained the same, showing no signs of improvement, but he wasn't acting maliciously either.
Most strangely, the stone platform they were on had become lush and green overnight, stretching far into the distance, completely covering the burn marks.
In the distance, thick smoke rose from the earthen fort. Nice knew the villagers had finally survived the night; the smoke must be from burning rat carcasses.
"Tamor,"
Nice called out.
The man was clearly exhausted; though his eyes were open, he was in a half-asleep, half-awake state.
"Tamor,"
Nice raised her voice.
Tamor jumped up as if pricked by a needle. "What are your orders, sir?" "
Our reinforcements seem to have arrived. Go and see,"
Nice said, pointing towards the valley entrance.
Upon hearing that reinforcements had arrived, the previously exhausted Tamor became unusually excited. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the valley entrance like a whirlwind.
At the valley entrance, a troop of cavalry escorted five carriages, all filled with priests. Leading them was Abbot Glorier. They had set off at dawn and had just arrived.
Upon entering the valley, the first thing these men saw was the ground littered with dead rats.
Many rats that hadn't died at the earthen fort finally succumbed to their wounds during the retreat. With the keen eyes of these knights and priests, they could naturally guess what had happened from the direction the rats had fallen.
As they approached the fort, seeing the thick layer of blood on the walls and the mountain of rat carcasses piled up in the corner, they understood even more clearly the brutality of the battle .
"Something seems off,"
Abbot Glorill, with his extensive experience, noticed the villagers' shifty eyes. Instead of excitedly greeting them, they turned and left, as if they were hiding something. Even more strangely, the drawbridge remained standing before the fort, a clear indication of their unwelcome arrival.
Reminded by the abbot, Palm also sensed something was amiss. He rode his horse to a group of villagers burning rat carcasses.
"Where is the priest? And where are my two servants?"
Palm demanded sharply. The villagers all lowered their heads, none daring to speak.
Just then, the suspension bridge creaked down, and all the villagers, led by Maxim, emerged, now as obsequious as could be.
Most of the women and children were present.
The men, especially the young ones, were far fewer. Without Nice, they had paid a heavy price to defend this earthen fortress.
"What happened? Where is my soul companion?"
Seeing this scene, Palm felt an even greater sense of foreboding.
His words had barely
left his lips when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a person running towards them, waving their arms. Turning around, he immediately recognized it as Tamor. The villagers, as if possessed, also saw Tamor, and their faces turned deathly pale.
They had been speculating that Nice and his group might have been eaten by rats, in which case they might still have a chance of survival. Now that one of them had survived, the truth was undeniable.
In a moment of quick thinking, Maxim immediately knelt before Palm and said rapidly, "Knight, please listen to me. This is absolutely not because of us. It's all that woman's doing. She's the devil. Those rats were raised by her. The pastor led us to deal with those rats, so she secretly instigated her men to try to assassinate the pastor. Fortunately, our men discovered it in time, and she didn't succeed. Even more fortunately, the pastor received God's help and escaped on his own—" Maxim recounted the events of that day as quickly as possible. He needed to give the knight a preconceived notion before Tamor arrived. At this point, he no longer intended to protect the incited young people.
All explanations like being unaware of the truth or acting impulsively are invalidated. The most important thing now is to protect others.
"You—don't listen to him, these people—are all—no good."
Tamor hadn't heard what Maxim was saying; he only saw the man's terrified face, his mouth constantly trying to explain to Master Palm, so he couldn't help but shout.
"Where's Nice?"
Palm didn't care.
"The priest—is injured, and Wood—is—in critical condition,"
Tamor gasped.
"How could this be?"
Palm found it strange; in his imagination, these people should either be all fine or have been gnawed to the bone by rats.
"There was a big rat, a magical beast. The priest and Wood fought desperately and finally killed it. I was there too, but I couldn't help."
Tamor didn't want to embellish his own reputation; he was smart enough to say this, at least giving an impression of honesty.
"A magical beast? They think they can kill a magical beast?"
It was Dean Glorill who spoke.
He had rushed over when he saw what was happening, and Maxim's words had made him understand what was going on. He hadn't spoken up since it didn't concern him, but now he couldn't hold back any longer.
Palm was also taken aback. He found it impossible too. He had never seen a magical beast, but he had heard many rumors about them.
All magical beasts were said to possess terrifying strength, considerable speed, and difficulty in killing. Furthermore, they possessed innate abilities; even high-ranking knights wouldn't dare claim a victory against a magical beast.
"It was definitely a magical beast. That monster was impervious to blades and spears; fireballs would slide off it. Its teeth were so sharp they could bite through anything. It was as fast as lightning, and its strength was astonishing. Wood only got hit once, and all his ribs were broken. The priest was swept by it, and one of his arms was useless."
Tamor gestured with both hands and feet.
Palm glanced at Dean Gloria, who nodded. Based on this description, it was definitely a magical beast.
"You're still alive—tell me, how did that little guy kill the magical beast?"
He was very curious. Even if he encountered a magical beast, his first thought would definitely be to run away.
Magical beasts were essentially a combination of knights and mages, and they had no weaknesses. The priests, except for the Judges, were all skilled in defense but not offense, and their divine spells were slow to cast, making them extremely vulnerable. He really couldn't imagine how the young man had managed it.
"That's absolutely a feat!"
Tamor exclaimed with admiration.
"Alright! Stop flattering him, he's not even here."
The Dean didn't want to listen to this guy's rambling; his curiosity had reached its peak.
"That really is a feat! The priest is like Richard the Lionheart!"
Tamor made a gesture of inserting his arm.
Palm and Dean Gloria both gaped; this answer was indeed too shocking.

Chapter Two ◆ The Source of Demonic Transformation
A quarter of an hour later, even those who didn't believe before now believed.
Nice's hand was still stuck in the large rat's mouth, its large incisors leaving a hole through his arm. It took four knights considerable effort to pry the rat's mouth open and free Nice's arm; this was undeniably true.
"What about the widow?"
Nice refrained from mentioning his own story.
It would be a feat to hear it from someone else, but from his own mouth, it would easily be seen as boasting.
"She escaped. The villagers said that when she saw you run away, she sensed something was wrong and slipped away when no one was looking. She's probably a pile of rat droppings now," Palm speculated maliciously.
He disliked both the couple; the man had deserted at the last minute, and the woman had betrayed him. This had made him dislike everyone in the village as well.
Nice, however, dared not remain silent. He felt the woman wouldn't die so easily; she was a very cunning woman.
"What do you plan to do with the others?"
Palm asked.
Nice hesitated for a moment, then said somewhat awkwardly, "There's also the woman you've taken a liking to here..."
"You don't need to worry about that,"
Palm waved his hand. He already knew everything from Tamor. "I won't take her brother as a squire, nor do I intend to make his parents any stewards. A squire's duty is to protect his master's back on the battlefield. How can I entrust my back to a guy like that?"
Palm had a fiery temper and acted solely on his own feelings. To be honest, Nice didn't particularly like this guy, but at this moment, he felt that having such a straightforward person wasn't bad.
Just as Palm said, once on the battlefield, one must have a trustworthy companion. Palm might have some flaws, but he was absolutely reliable on the battlefield.
Nice turned to Tamor and said, "You stay outside. If any villagers come, send them away."
After Tamor left, Nice casually closed off the area before speaking, "Do you know that East has his eye on this place? He and Luke are out there together."
"Yes, otherwise why would I be here?"
Palm replied.
"Rather than seeking revenge, it's better to gain some practical benefits, so I plan to leave the decision to Luke,"
Nice stated.
Palm nodded; he now felt even more favorably toward Nice.
He knew about Nice's situation and knew this was the second time Nice had been betrayed. The first betrayal had forced him to donate all his wealth, leaving him penniless; the second betrayal had nearly cost him his life. Putting himself in Nice's shoes, he knew he would definitely want to kill everyone in the village.
"You must have some ideas, right? Tell me about them."
Palm's words implied that he would definitely support Nice's opinion.
Nice originally had no ideas, or rather, he was too lazy to think about them, but after hearing Palm's words, wouldn't it be a waste not to respond?
He sensed the goodwill emanating from Palm, and he now found Palm quite agreeable.
Tilting his head and thinking for a moment, Nice had an idea: "Go ask around later how many people spoke up for me that day. These people should be rewarded."
"You actually want to reward them?"
Palm exclaimed, looking at Nice as if he were a fool.
"Let me continue."
Knowing this guy had a bad temper, Nice quickly stopped him from getting angry. Palm's anger pleased him; this was true sympathy. "Like Wood and Tamor, I plan to promote Wood and be cold towards Tamor. You should understand that, right? The same goes for the villagers. I plan to win some over, ignore others, and suppress some."
Palm seemed to understand. He wasn't stupid, just too lazy to think. Hearing Nice's ideas, he immediately understood.
It was actually the same as in the army. There had to be rewards and punishments. Rewards were to instill obedience, while punishments were to instill fear.
"Those we ignore will definitely unite with those we suppress."
Palm even started thinking.
Ness thought for a moment, then shook his head: "No, not if handled properly. Don't forget, some people here are devils, and others are accomplices of devils… I didn't say that."
He laughed, a very sinister laugh.
Maxim was eager to pin all the blame on the widow, so this charge definitely solved a major problem for him.
Three of the young men who had attacked him survived, and it would have been difficult to determine their crimes. Betrayal is an act, but not a crime; the only undeniable crime is "attempting to murder a clergyman," a charge with standards that can be lenient or severe, ranging from whipping to hanging.
Since they weren't the masterminds or key accomplices, their defense could simply be that they were instigated and acted out of momentary folly. Furthermore, if they were willing to repent, the church, to show mercy and leniency, would most likely give them a lenient sentence.
Ness had absolutely no mercy for those who wanted to kill him; those three had to die. If they didn't, they would be the worst examples. What worried him even more was that betrayal was addictive; once done, it would be done again.
Now that the widow was considered the devil, these people had become the devil's accomplices. The devil and the devil's accomplices, plotting to kill God's servants… these people were essentially doomed.
Even if they were willing to repent, even if a cardinal pleaded for them, it wouldn't save them. Only the Pope could issue a special decree. Nice didn't believe that Pope Clemento would be so foolish as to do something so stupid.
"The devil's accomplices are doomed, and their families, especially those who didn't stand up to stop them, will be judged by the Church. They will be classified as sinners, like those carrying the plague. If someone is in too much contact with them, they are easily classified as sinners as well."
Nice felt incredibly malicious as he said this.
The only consolation was that he would never intentionally harm anyone; he was simply retaliating in kind.
"I have another plan. We can promote those who have been rewarded and let them manage this land; their status will be elevated."
Nice had already devised a strategy; he had even planned out every step.
"You intend to create class differences among them?"
Palm seemed thoughtful. He was no stranger to this system; it was the same in the military. Nowhere was the hierarchy more rigid than in the military.
Everything exists for a reason, and class differences serve as a ladder of souls. Their purpose is to allow people to climb, but the number of positions at the top is limited. It's impossible for everyone to stand at the highest position, so in the process of climbing, it's inevitable that others will be squeezed out.
Once class differences are established, this village will never be as united as it is now.
"I'm also planning to give them some personnel appointment and dismissal authority,"
Nice said, going a step further.
"Are you worried they won't fight hard enough?"
Palm understood the power of this move.
Those in power generally don't delegate personnel appointment and dismissal authority, as that would create factions. If subordinates had this authority, they would definitely try to recruit people and build their own cliques.
However, there's no more effective way to divide and conquer than this. Once subordinates have this authority, they will definitely form cliques, and it won't just be individuals stepping on each other, but factions fighting each other.
"You'd better tell Maxim about this first; he seems smart and should know what to do,"
Nice advised. Only Palm could make this suggestion; if he did, his image would be completely ruined.
Nice felt himself becoming increasingly hypocritical.
The entire day was spent cleaning up the mess.
The wounded needed treatment, the rat carcasses needed burning, and houses needed rebuilding. But most importantly, the guilty had to be punished, and before that, there had to be a trial, which took a full three hours.
In the evening, another group arrived in Kaoni.
This time, the people were of even higher rank; Nice even saw two of them fly in. When these two appeared, the villagers were all stunned, mistaking them for angels, kneeling on the ground and constantly repenting.
Even after everything was over, reinforcements had arrived, and of such high caliber at that. Nice found this very strange, so he privately asked Dean Glorill, and from Dean Glorill, he finally learned the reason.
Monsters don't usually appear naturally; there must be some reason for this mutation. Those people were all sent from above to find out the truth, and such investigations often yield astonishing results.
The group that arrived in the evening included members of the church and subordinates of the largest lord in the area—the Has family. Whatever they discovered, the spoils would be split equally between the two sides.
To Nice's surprise, Luke and Ister had also come. Judging from their excited expressions, they had certainly achieved their goal.
However, Nice had no interest in their affairs at the moment; he had other matters to attend to.
Inside a large tent, a dozen or so people were gathered, including Nice and Dean Gloryl.
In the very center sat a tall, thin, middle-aged blacksmith with a goatee and a high forehead, his face contorted with worry as he stared at the large rat. A pile of tools lay at his feet.
He had tried every method he could think of, but he was still no match for the rat's slippery pelt.
"How did you kill it?"
Larvin asked, looking at Nys with a bewildered expression. Even though he already knew the answer perfectly well, he still found it unbelievable.
The others felt the same way. If they were in Nyss's shoes, no one could guarantee they would survive facing such a magical beast.
"Obviously, the pelt was the most valuable thing,"
the blacksmith remarked from the side.
A magical beast often possesses six or seven innate abilities, sometimes even more, but it typically has only one or two primary abilities. Therefore, the most valuable parts of a magical beast are only one or two.
"Leather is generally used to make light armor,"
Larvin said, looking at Mond, an expert in this field.
Mond was deep in thought, his mind filled with感慨 (a sense of mixed emotions, including admiration and reflection). He felt that this light armor, once made, would be very suitable for the path Mond was taking. Perhaps it was fate, wanting the young man to inherit his ideals.
He had spent countless hours and collected a vast amount of data to pursue this path, and all that effort had not been in vain. He did indeed have many leather armor designs in his mind, but the problem was finding ones that suited the characteristics of this rat hide—that wasn't so easy.
All armor prioritizes defense, so naturally, the harder and tougher it is, the better. However, the characteristic of this rat hide is that it's slippery.
After thinking for a long time, he suddenly opened his eyes wide, his gaze filled with excitement.
"I remember now, I once saw a record in the library of Burbenid. In the time of Helsiti, on the southern shore of the Rield Sea, which is now Abuchinia, there was an ancient sect, I think it was called... Pesens."
Mond racked his brains to recall what he had seen.
"That was a sect hidden in the shadows,"
Dean Glorill interjected.
The crowd wasn't surprised; most of them were already familiar with the dean's erudition.
"Really? Doesn't that contradict God's teachings?"
Nice's face immediately darkened.
"No, it doesn't,"
the dean explained. "Darkness is the opposite of light, and strictly speaking, shadows should be considered part of light. Where there is light, there must be shadow; shadows precisely prove the existence of light."
Hearing this, Nice finally felt relieved. This meant that the sect called "Pasens" wasn't within the scope of what the church forbade.
"Pasens isn't a religious sect?"
Nice asked. His question was reasonable; if it were a religious sect, the church would certainly have strictly prohibited it. Dean Glorier wouldn't have given such an explanation.
"The Pasens aren't even a sect. Abusinia is a very barren land. The people there make a living by gathering intelligence and sometimes assassinating others. Over time, they developed a unique system of magic. Their practices are strange, somewhere between magic and sorcery."
The abbot didn't know how to explain; these things could only be understood intuitively.
Hearing the abbot's explanation, Nice felt a surge of longing, but the next sentence plunged him back into despair.
"If you want to know more, you'll have to go to the Inquisition. They definitely have the information."
The abbot said it casually. Of course, he didn't know the secrets Nice held.
Nice was utterly speechless. The Inquisition again! He suddenly realized he had a strong connection with the Inquisition; many things he wanted to know required investigation within their ranks.
"Oh right, you weren't finished yet!"
Ness suddenly remembered that he hadn't spoken since Mondl's words were interrupted. "Does this sect called the Paisons have some special armor-making technique?"
Mondl nodded. "This sect uses light armor. Their armor isn't very defensive, but it's very slippery. Enemy attacks are always deflected rather than blocked because they aim to be completely unharmed, rather than minimizing damage through armor."
Ness's interest was piqued again. He had been hesitant just now, but now he had the idea of going to the Inquisition.
The giant rat from last night had left a deep impression on him; it repelled every attack, even burning adhesive was useless. If he obtained this armor-making technique, combined with the properties of that rat skin, wouldn't he be invulnerable?
"I need to go to the Inquisition,"
Nice said. He was speaking to those around him, a legitimate reason for the Inquisition: "Do you have any connections?"
"That's easy,"
the Inquisitor readily agreed.
In the eyes of the world, the Inquisition was a heavily guarded and inaccessible place, but in reality, it was quite the opposite. Getting in was easy, but getting out was a different story.
"What do you want in return?"
Nice asked directly. He knew this vampire too well; this guy wouldn't get up early without a profit, and getting his help would definitely come at a price.
The dean pointed at the rat: "The skin is yours, the rest is ours. Once you find the method, we'll make it for you. Of course, you'll have to pay for the extra materials yourself... You're a big spender, you certainly won't care about this little bit of money."
Dean Glory was definitely a shrewd businessman, but his price was indeed reasonable, and every time he offered a price, he managed to perfectly align it with the other party's bottom line.
Nise was seething with hatred. He knew very well how precious the parts of a magical beast were, yet these conditions were all acceptable because he couldn't think of any other parts that could be used.
"Okay, but you'll have to make me one more thing. This guy has the ability to command rats, and I need a magical device like that. Otherwise, you'll have to kill all the rats in the mountains for me."
Nice looked like he knew exactly what he meant.
The people around him did understand what he meant. It was no secret that Luke and East were trying to get control of the place, and it was no secret that Nice had a relationship with them either.
"It shouldn't be difficult."
Larvin picked up a sharp scalpel, put it into the large rat's mouth, and rummaged around inside for a while before finally taking out a white, bone-like object.
“I was absolutely right.”
He explained smugly, holding the object. “This is called a spring bone. If a magical beast was a social animal before it mutated, like a rat, rabbit, or wolf, it usually has this. You can use it to summon spirits.”
He turned to look at Ness. “I’ll make you a whistle. Figure out how to use it yourself.”
“How long will it take?”
Ness asked.
Larvin smiled and answered confidently, “It’s simple. I can get it done for you tonight.”
“Shh…shh…shh…”
The long whistle echoed through the mountains.
A caravan was traveling through the mountains filled with withered, yellowed logs. Ness was in the middle of the caravan, the whistle dangling from his mouth.
This group of people were fully armed, wearing seamless chainmail and carrying various strange weapons. Having learned of the situation from Palm, they had made special preparations, choosing weapons of a very uncommon kind.
For example, the Judge Morganangus wielded a bizarre weapon that looked like a naval whip used to punish criminals—a nine-tailed cat whip—but it was covered in sharp spikes, a sight that sent chills down one's spine. A single lash from this thing would likely tear off half a body.
Suddenly, someone shouted, "Rat!"
Before the words even finished, everyone could see a dark mass surging towards them from a great distance.
The scene was completely different from what Palm, Nys, and the other six had witnessed when they first entered the mountains. This time, the rats were far more numerous, but their formation was extremely disorganized. Losing the Rat King would be a catastrophic blow to these ugly creatures.
The strength here was also incomparable to what it had been before. Before the vast army of rats even approached, divine spells began to light up all around them.
This was the advantage of a large group of priests gathered together; each person cast a divine spell, and in the blink of an eye, they had seventeen or eighteen spells wielding them. Even Nys, the novice, felt stronger than ever before and filled with inexplicable confidence. He roughly estimated that in his current state, he could definitely take down ten of his usual selves.
The power of divine magic lies in its cumulative effects. To increase strength, one strengthens the muscles of the arms and chest; to increase speed, one strengthens the muscles of the legs and waist; to increase defense, one increases the toughness of the skin and fat. These effects don't conflict with each other.
Magic doesn't offer such advantages. To increase speed, there's "Lightness of the Body"; to increase defense, there's "Stone Skin." "Lightness of the Body" directly reduces weight, while "Stone Skin" turns the skin into a stone-like substance. If used simultaneously, the latter will cancel out the former.
After casting the divine magic, the group quickly dispersed.
Morgan charged ahead and saw him brandish the strange whip in his hand. Seven- or eight-meter-long strands of shimmering light shot from the tip of the whip. These threads, like the whip itself, were densely covered with tiny barbs. The sheer number of threads, combined with the barbs, made it appear fuzzy. Each lash enveloped a large fan-shaped area in front of him.
With each lash, a cloud of dust, broken wood, shredded leaves, and small pieces of dirt, mixed with blood and flesh, flew through the air.
Seeing this, Nice felt a pang in his heart. He had never witnessed such a bloody scene before. It wasn't out of pity for the rats, but rather the thought of Morgan using this move on the battlefield—what a horrific sight that would be!
The move wasn't particularly powerful; a knight could probably block it, but ordinary soldiers wouldn't be able to, and it would be tantamount to slaughter.
"It's not as terrifying as you imagine. If someone is hit by this, flesh and blood will fly everywhere, and the wound will be very open. The injured person will immediately lose the ability to fight, but they won't die. By convention, they can withdraw from the battle. Perhaps it is because of this that they are spared from death. So, in a sense, it is a merciful weapon,"
the dean explained with a smile, seeing Nice's thoughts.
"Mercy?"
Nice felt an even greater chill run down her spine; she sensed no trace of mercy.
"People like Morgan are called the Judges, and that's not without reason. If they were truly bloodthirsty, their nicknames would be Executioners or Death itself."
The Dean confirmed once again that his words weren't sarcastic.
"What about the Judges?"
Nice asked, wanting to see how the Dean would explain.
"There's one thing you have to admit: the Judges rarely kill on the spot. As for whether those people die in the Inquisition or are eventually executed after being brought back, that's ultimately not directly related to them."
Unlike old man Simon, Dean Glorier didn't harbor much resentment towards the Inquisition; in fact, he had a good relationship with some of its members.
Of course, he couldn't say he liked it either. No one would like this institution filled with darkness and bloodshed, not even those in the core of the Vatican.
"Forget it, this isn't a pleasant topic."
The Dean pointed to the whistle in Nice's hand. "You should focus on your work! The rats seem to be trying to escape."
Nice then noticed that the rats on the perimeter were scattering. When that big rat was alive, absolutely no rat would dare to do this. He quickly blew the whistle loudly.
Nice's job was just to blow the whistle. With so many powerful experts around, he didn't even have a chance to take action. Even someone as strong as Palm could only follow behind others and eat their dust now.
"How long will it take to kill all the rats?"
Nice asked while blowing the whistle.
"That's hard to say... but remember, we're not here to kill rats. We'll leave once we find what we need. Aren't your friends after all looking for this place? You'd better work harder!"
The headmaster said this without a hint of embarrassment.
Of course, he didn't rule it out entirely. If Nice and the others paid, the headmaster would definitely consider leaving some people to help.
Nice certainly wouldn't fall for it. Even if he wanted to hire people, he would negotiate privately. Once it passed through this vampire's hands, the price would be different—at least double.
Besides, he didn't want to wipe out all the rats. The threat of the rats would make the villagers feel the need for protection and keep them obedient.
Nice felt a deep sadness. Without realizing it, he too had begun to learn to scheme, a thought that he had previously considered extremely wicked.
"Could there be another demonized rat?"
Nice suddenly wondered. After finding what they were looking for, these guys would just leave, but he and Luke had to stay behind. If another demonized rat appeared, it would be their turn to be in trouble.
The dean pondered for a while, then said uncertainly, "Beasts are very territorial. Even their own offspring, once they grow to the point of threatening the beast, will definitely be driven out. Judging from the current situation, there shouldn't be another terrifying demonic rat, but until the source of the demonization is found, everything is uncertain. Perhaps, by sheer coincidence, a rat has become demonized during this period, or a cub just happens to mature at this time." "
I'm more worried about the cub escaping and seeking revenge when it grows up,"
Nice muttered. In a sense, his situation was similar.
He was desperately improving his strength, forced to do so by the two major threats of Philip IV and Pope Clementine, and also because of his father's death.
He had sworn to find out the truth and make the murderer pay.
"There's no need to worry about that. As long as we remove the source of the demonization, those cubs will at most be a little smarter than other rats, not ridiculously strong,"
the headmaster said irresponsibly, offering reassurance.
Generally speaking, without the source of the demonization, the cubs of magical beasts wouldn't become too strong, but there were exceptions.
Nise believed him and immediately felt relieved.
"By the way, what exactly is this thing we're looking for?"
He had wanted to ask this question for a long time.
"I don't know. Maybe it's a piece of wood, maybe a stone. There are many things that can cause demonic possession. Only when you get close can you possibly find it."
Dean Glorill said this with great helplessness. Because of this characteristic, there was no better way than to thoroughly search all the surrounding mountains.
If they were looking for other things, they could use prophecy. Even if they couldn't pinpoint the exact location, they could at least give a range, which would be much easier than searching for a needle in a haystack. Unfortunately, things that can cause demonic possession all possess powerful energy, and any prophecy is ineffective against them.
Dean Glorill could only pray in his heart that the thing wasn't in some cave, otherwise, even if he searched all the surrounding mountains, he wouldn't find it.
As time passed, the number of rats dwindled, while the number of people participating in the search increased. Not only were hundreds more brought in from outside, but local villagers were also mobilized.
Naturally, so many people couldn't be organized into one team—that would be too inefficient—so they were divided into dozens of search teams, each responsible for a different direction.
Nice remained with the abbot; their group, mainly composed of members of the Hidden Bag Academy, was responsible for the south. Judging from the two rat hordes' attacks on the earthen fortress, the origin of the rat infestation was likely in this direction.
As usual, this group set off early in the morning, traversing the ghostly mountains. The others kept their eyes glued to their feet, not missing a single suspicious object.
Nice whistled as he casually scattered seeds. The vegetation around Kaonni was completely destroyed, and it was unknown how many years it would take to recover. He was simply doing his part.
The seeds, soaked in a special solution and then touched by his innate talent bestowed by Cupid, would sprout quickly next spring and grow rapidly. Perhaps in three to five years, the place would be alive again.
As he walked, Nice suddenly stopped, staring in astonishment at the seeds he had just scattered—they were sprouting!
"What's going on?"
Morgan Nancy, who had been walking behind Nice, noticed her unusual behavior.
Hearing the sound, everyone else stopped.
No explanation was needed; the rapidly growing seedlings on the ground spoke for themselves.
"The thing's down there, dig..."
The headmaster snatched a hoe from a farmer nearby.
"It shouldn't be here,"
Mond said, pointing ahead. "Look."
Everyone looked in the direction he was pointing and noticed that the trees in front were different from the others. The trees elsewhere were all leaning haphazardly, but the trees in front were all leaning in one direction.
"Give me a handful of seeds,"
the headmaster commanded, walking up to Nice. Nice immediately placed the bag of seeds in the headmaster's hand.
With a wave of his hand, signaling everyone to disperse, Dean Glory drew a mysterious incantation in mid-air. His fingertip glowed, leaving a trail of light wherever it touched.
After completing this divine spell, the Dean tossed out a handful of seeds.
Instantly, the seeds became fluffy, like dandelions, flying in all directions before gradually settling to the ground.
As soon as they landed, they sprouted and germinated at a speed visible to the naked eye. In moments, the once barren land became mottled, covered with patches of green.
"It's in that direction,"
the Dean said, facing the direction Mondl pointed. His eyes were different from others, and a six-pointed star was faintly reflected in his pupils.
What he saw was completely different from what others saw. Everything that was alive emitted a light, and the more vigorous the life, the brighter the light. The brightest light was naturally their own, and besides that, only the plants on the ground remained.
Sure enough, as he had predicted, the plants closer to that direction had the most vigorous vitality, clearly indicating that something there was promoting their growth.
"Blow the whistle, blow it hard,"
the dean instructed Nice, turning to him.
Nice did as he was told, and the whistle broke the silence of the mountain ridge, spreading in all directions.
Unfortunately, for a long time, not a single rat appeared.
Although they had killed many rats in the past few days, they hadn't wiped them all out. Such a long period of no response must be suspicious.
"This is it, the place where the magical beasts live. It's definitely a large restricted area around here."
The Dean, experienced and knowledgeable, showed a mixture of joy and caution in his expression. "Everyone, be on high alert. Even the King has guards, and social magical beasts are likely to be similar."
Just in case, he immediately cast another divine spell, and a huge magic circle instantly appeared around them.
After setting up the magic circle, the Dean led the way, followed closely by the others, and the magic circle moved with them.
This was a detection magic circle; anything not belonging to their side, even an ant, would have nowhere to hide. This divine spell could also be used to break invisibility spells. Of course, this was relative; if the opponent's skill in invisibility was high, even a spirit could render this divine spell ineffective.
The moment the Dean issued his warning, everyone was ready for battle. Morgan drew his chain whip, Mondstadt pulled out his rapier, and the Dean himself grabbed his staff. It looked like an ordinary wooden stick, unadorned and unremarkable, but as holy power surged forth, a spearhead made of radiant light emerged from its tip.
The further they went in, the more eerie and terrifying it became. The fallen trees were riddled with holes, like a hornet's nest, and the ground itself was riddled with holes.
Suddenly, several points of red light appeared on the suspended magic circle.
"Everyone be careful!"
the Dean shouted, and before his words had even faded, the red lights were already upon them.
No one could see what they were; they were incredibly fast, as fast as lightning, too fast to react. Fortunately, the suspended magic circle slowed their movements, and the red lights gradually subsided.
Marked by the red lights were a dozen or so rats, small in size, their bodies shimmering silver, as if cast from pure silver.
Morgan was the fastest; his chain whip instantly covered all the rats. This time he used all his strength; wherever the chain whip scraped, entire patches of ground flew up, trees and stones were pulverized.
Incredibly, the rats seemed completely unfazed; attacks deflected them, making them appear almost as large as the giant rat.
Just then, a flash of sword light appeared. Mond drew his sword like lightning, and in a sudden leap, his body covered more than ten meters in an instant. The blinding sword light swept across the rat like a streak of lightning.
His swordsmanship was fast, and his sword was even faster. The blade was imbued with six or seven kinds of magic, making it almost indestructible.
A flash of sword light, a line of blood, and the silver rat was cleaved in two. The cut was so clean that not even a drop of blood flowed out.
"As expected of a Guardian, much weaker than that big one."
Mond breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone had tried everything before, but they couldn't break the skin of that big rat. He had tried as well, but it was completely unharmed.
"But these guys are quite beautiful; they should fetch a good price."
The dean was more astute than others, still having the leisure to consider money at a time like this.
This wasn't wrong; any fur would pale in comparison to that shimmering silver rat pelt. If such a thing were made into fur coats, ladies and young women would surely be frantically handing over their money.
"Don't kill them, capture them alive."
Nice wasn't bad-minded either. When it came to being greedy for money, he couldn't compare to the dean, but when it came to making money, he was quite confident.
"Catch them alive?"
The dean paused for a moment, but quickly understood. "Yes, catch them alive. Go back and find some white mice to breed them. Maybe we can raise them artificially."
Most of the team members were from the Hidden Ancestral Hall, and Dean Glory's order was immediately carried out.
Anyway, these silver mice were far less powerful than the giant rat. Aside from similar speed, their defense was much weaker. And the strongest point of these magical rats was their defense; their attack power was quite average, so everyone wasn't too worried.
With the giant rat's corpse in hand, this group had already thoroughly studied them. These magical rats were impervious to blades and spears; any attack would be deflected. However, that didn't mean they were uncounterable.
Morgan, Mond, and the others each carried an extra pouch—ordinary leather pouches, but bound with wire and stuffed with cotton. With
a "plop," a silver rat stumbled straight into the pouch, sinking deep into the cotton. There was nowhere to gain leverage in the cotton mass, and its sharp teeth were useless against the fluffy cotton.
The nearby sorcerers immediately rushed over, casting a barrage of negative spells—confusion, slumber, bewilderment, blindness—on the rat.
A dozen minutes later, the battle was completely over.
One by one, the unconscious rats were caught. The hunters tied their limbs with wire, binding them like balls, and even their mouths were bound shut, as their teeth were so powerful they could bite through steel plates.
These rats were strung together in groups of five, and they actually looked quite cute at that moment.
Of the twenty-seven rats, one was killed by Mondstadt, much to the regret of Dean Glory. He was already pondering how to raise them and how to breed them.
Nyss, however, was preoccupied with sowing seeds, wanting to plant as many plants as possible. Behind them, the seeds they had just sown were already half a foot tall.
"Hurry, hurry, get this done so we can go home sooner!"
the Dean shouted, carrying a string of rats.
Several hundred meters ahead, there was a ring of trees falling clockwise, with a large pit in the center. This pit was seven or eight meters deep and roughly twenty meters in diameter, resembling a honeycomb, its walls riddled with holes.
"Finally found the rat nest,"
the Dean said, looking at the magic circle floating in mid-air. Several faint red lights were clustered together on the magic circle, and Wei Hun was nearby.
"Dig this area,"
the Dean said, pointing in the direction of the gathered red lights.
His order had barely been given, and before anyone else could even begin, the red lights began moving very slowly towards Wei Hun, as if they sensed the approaching danger.
Although their movement was slow, it was underground, and digging would certainly be slower.
"I hate rats, I hate burrows,"
the Dean cursed through gritted teeth, spreading his arms and showering a rain of light onto the ground.
This wasn't an offensive spell; the rain of light also enveloped everyone around.
Everyone felt an unusual tranquility, as if lying in their own bed at home, with an indescribable sense of warmth. The red dots also remained motionless; their spirits seemed to have been affected, no longer sensing danger.
"Dig,"
the headmaster said without hesitation.
Several villagers went over and began digging with their shovels.
They dug easily; the place resembled a honeycomb or cheese, hollow in the middle, each shovel producing a large chunk.
After digging five or six meters down, a jumble of odds and ends suddenly appeared: metal, ore, agate, and coins.
"Stop, this is probably the Rat King's palace,"
the headmaster said, worried that the villagers might damage what they were looking for.
Several knights went down into the pit in place of the villagers, using their knives instead of shovels, and began digging around. Soon, a thatched hut appeared.
In the very center of the hut lay a stone, its surface riddled with holes, two-thirds of it melted and turned glassy.
"What is this?"
Nice couldn't help but ask after the knights brought it up.
"It looks like a meteorite, or maybe it's lava from a volcanic eruption, who knows? Anyway, it's this thing."
The dean walked over, carefully picked up the rock, examined it from all angles for a while, and then glanced at the bottom of the pit: "Everyone, keep looking, there might be more than one."
No one objected. Since they were already here, why not search more thoroughly? The place wasn't very big anyway.
Several hours later, the entire pit had been turned upside down, dug more than ten meters deep, and eventually even groundwater surfaced.
No second similar rock was found, but a large pile of other things were collected. Since they weren't sure if what they were looking for was inside, all the items were gathered together.
Besides, they dug out three baby mice whose eyes weren't even open yet. They had already grown some downy fur, which was vaguely silvery.
"These three are much better than the other twenty-seven. They don't have consciousness yet and can be tamed. Once they open their eyes, we can try to get them to recognize their owner."
The headmaster handed the three cubs to Morgan.
"Give me one too."
Nice held out his hand.
The dean initially wanted to haggle, but then, remembering that this whole affair was brought about by Nice, he felt a little embarrassed. He picked through the three rats, choosing the smallest one and placing it in Nice's hand: "This one's yours. Although without the stone, this cub won't become any stronger, it's still a magical beast. If raised well, it will be of considerable help to you."
The dean was only saying this casually; he didn't take his words seriously at all.
Without the source of demonic transformation, these three cubs couldn't mutate further; their strength was even inferior to the other twenty-seven magical rats. Their only use was for breeding.
Using divine magic to seal the mysterious stone, the dean held out his hand to Nice: "Give me the seed."
Nice handed it over.
The abbot grabbed another handful of seeds and scattered them as before. This time, nothing happened after the seeds fell.
"Alright, it's all over. It was all because of this stone."
He felt a huge weight lifted from his heart; he could finally return to the Hidden Bag Academy.

Chapter 3 ◆ The Road Ahead
The valley returned to its former tranquility.
After the source of the demonization was found, it was immediately escorted back to Admont under the protection of a large group of people. After thoroughly exploring the area around the large pit, the rest of the group left, leaving only Luke and his three companions, along with Nice.
Compared to when they first arrived, the valley had completely changed.
Because of two attacks by the rat army, the remaining crops were completely destroyed, and the arrival of various forces made the place extremely chaotic. The only better place than before was the addition of greenery on the southern cliff.
A bishop was in charge of this search operation, and he chose that green area as his base. The people sent by the Has family also stayed there.
To make themselves more comfortable, they had a soul-walking mage cast a spell to flatten the mountain and move some of the dense vegetation, creating a more varied and orderly arrangement. Their tents were pitched in the clearings among the bushes.
Now that everyone else had left, this good spot was naturally claimed by Luke and his group. Several people were gathered in the large central tent, which had originally been the bishop's residence.
Luke and his three companions remained fully armed, as they weren't entirely sure if the villagers would betray them again.
"We can't find that woman anywhere, it's infuriating!" Luke was referring to the widow who had tried to kill Nesse.
While searching for the source of the demonic possession, they also tried to find the culprit, but unfortunately, they hadn't found any trace of her or her body.
"We'll find her eventually. Her image is plastered everywhere now, even the Inquisition is involved,"
Nesse said, seemingly unfazed.
"Do you guys think she escaped?"
Luke had been wanting to ask this, but hadn't had the chance before.
"Need I say more? Hiding in the river was the safest option back then. That woman must have thought of that too. If she just clung to a piece of wood and swam downstream, a night would be enough for her to reach over a hundred kilometers downstream."
Nice had already considered this; it was the only choice.
If they went by land, they might encounter rats, and even if they were lucky enough to escape, they would run into reinforcements coming from Admont.
"Forget about that widow. Tell me, what should we do next?"
East was more concerned with the immediate situation.
He was the first to think of taking over this place, and now he had achieved his goal. When the Haas family members left, they handed Luke a letter of appointment, appointing him as the administrator of Kaoni.
An administrator, like the five powerful figures in Asax Harbor, possessed significant influence, but was not a lord, did not own the land, and the title could not be inherited.
Silence filled the room. Luke and Nice seemed lost in thought, while Metro wanted to hear others' opinions first.
After a long while, Luke finally broke the silence: "Before making a decision, I want to confirm one thing."
Hearing this, East and Nice already understood; Luke was about to reveal his hand.
Sure enough, Luke said, "Now that we have this trusteeship, we all have a foundation. I don't intend to take Kaoni for myself. Nice has done more in this matter than any of us, and the initial idea was proposed by Easter. Plus, each of us contributed a large sum of money, so..."
He looked at everyone, "I plan to form a team and then request a change in management, transferring Kaoni to a shared management system for our entire team."
"I have no problem with that,"
Easter was the first to speak. He and Luke had worked quite well together for a long time, and he felt that mutual assistance was much more beneficial than going it alone.
Nice was the second to speak, but his situation was different. "My identity is different from yours. Once you've formed your team, I'll join."
His path differs from Luke's, so there's no need to be tied together. Temporarily joining this team is the best option for him.
"I agree too,"
Metro followed suit.
He was the most self-aware member of the team, knowing he didn't have Luke's or East's status or family background. Going elsewhere would just mean working for someone else, so staying here was better. Besides, his experiences over the past six months had filled him with confidence in the team.
Since Nice joined, they'd been on an upward trajectory, developing rapidly. A team with such a promising future was something everyone wanted to join!
Now only Palm remained silent.
Nice had long known that once Kaoni's management was settled, it would be Palm's turn to make a choice. Once the Soul Resonance formed a team, every member's achievements would be attributed to the team.
This system wasn't inherently good or bad; it maximized each person's potential, but it could also breed laziness. Therefore, for a team to thrive, the most important thing was that everyone in the team had a sense of belonging.
All eyes were on Palm.
At this moment, Palm was indeed very hesitant. Previously, he had simply coasted through in this group.
He had initially befriended Luke and Ister because of their family backgrounds, hoping to gain some benefits by following them. He had managed to become an apprentice knight, and then planned to fight alone, relying on his own bravery to forge his own future.
Now, he had achieved his goal, and much better than expected. Not only had he become a trainee knight three years ahead of schedule, but he was also financially secure. According to the original plan, he could have parted ways with Luke and his group.
However, what Metro saw was clear to him: the team was clearly on the rise, with a bright future ahead. Quitting now would be incredibly foolish.
If he didn't quit, his efforts on the battlefield would only bring glory to the team, while the rewards would be distributed according to rank. Luke would definitely get the most, others would get their share according to their ranking, and those who did the work would only get a slightly larger share. He was the strongest, yet he would be ranked behind Metro. This distribution method would definitely put him at a disadvantage.
"Count me in,"
Palm finally made his choice after much hesitation.
At that moment, he thought of the squire beside Cardinal Emar, a very powerful man who actually did the work of protection and chores.
There are many strong people in this world, but very few truly rise to the top; nothing could be more tragic.
Palm's decision brought a sigh of relief to everyone.
To be honest, the others didn't want to see Palm leave either. Besides the fact that he was indeed capable, the fact that one of the four of them had left so soon after starting their careers was a blow to the others.
"In that case, I'll submit my application immediately,"
Luke said decisively; he hadn't cared much about this godforsaken place to begin with.
"Now can we discuss the issue from earlier?"
Ister urged.
“This guy said his first step was to create a class system among these villagers,”
Palm said, pointing to Nice.
“I agree,”
East immediately replied. Now, he would be the first to agree to any suggestion Nice made.
“That’s good. It’s obviously impossible to win over all the villagers,”
Luke said, glancing out the window.
Three gallows stood on the edge of a distant cliff, each with a corpse hanging from it. These three men had escaped the jaws of rats, but they hadn’t escaped the law.
The seeds of hatred had been sown, and it was impossible to dissolve them, which was why they had to be fully armed.
With class distinctions established, they only needed to win over a small group of people.
“He also plans to delegate some personnel appointment and dismissal authority,”
Palm continued.
This time, Luke and Easter fell silent. With a little thought, they could easily understand Nice's plan, but it had its advantages and disadvantages.
To everyone's surprise, Palm continued, "I think it's quite good."
"If we relinquish the power of personnel appointments, we might be sidelined..."
Easter voiced their concern.
"What's there to worry about? They're commoners. No matter what rights they have, they're still commoners. They can't cross that line. Are you worried they'll replace us?"
Palm rarely showed this side of himself; he had been thinking about this for a while, practically prepared.
"Yeah!"
Luke and Easter suddenly realized.
If everyone were standing on those soul-like steps, they would indeed have to worry. Once the power of personnel appointment and dismissal was delegated, those below would compete for positions, eventually squeezing them out.
But they weren't standing on those soul-like steps; they were standing on a balcony. Those below could at most stand on the top step, and could never reach the balcony.
"Which people do you plan to use?"
Luke turned to ask Ness.
"Maxim should be the first. He already has prestige in the village and has spoken up for me. I also promised an old man the position..."
Ness said, mentally organizing the list.
He had initially promised two old men the position of deacons, but on the day of the rebellion, only one old man spoke up for him. He had also asked Palm to inquire beforehand, and fifteen people had spoken up for him that day.
The list was quickly finalized: four stewards and eight deacons.
There were also three others who had spoken up for Nice, but because their sons or brothers had participated in the rebellion, they couldn't be given important positions. However, they weren't classified as criminals; this was a special favor from Nice
. Metro suddenly had an idea, "I plan to take them to Asax, let them see our workshop, and give them some easy work as a reward." "That's a good idea,"
Palm praised.
He was gradually getting into the swing of things. He used to never want to use his brain. Metro's suggestion was essentially about winning people over with benefits. Esther and Luke also started to think about it; giving others benefits was too easy. However, Nice fell into deep thought. His father had always treated his servants well. When he first arrived in Kaoni, he had given the villagers many benefits, but the final result was betrayal. Therefore, simply giving benefits couldn't gain loyalty.
Seeing Luke, Esther, and Metro's discussion becoming increasingly heated, Nice snorted coldly. He said indifferently, "You're giving them so much now, but what about later? Will you keep giving them this much? What will happen when you stop giving them benefits?"
The three men were stunned, not only by Nice's words but also by Nice's cold tone. They had never heard Nice speak like that before.
"Perhaps we can replace tangible benefits with a bright future. We can make some promises to them..."
This time, Metro wasn't as confident as before.
Sure enough, his idea was immediately countered by Nice: "I've already used that trick. Palm had his eye on a girl, and to help this guy get her, I promised her family a lot of things..."
Nice didn't want to continue. This incident had disheartened him, and in the past few days, he had calmed down and thought about it for a long time, finally figuring out some of the reasons.
The most fundamental reason was that he had been too eager at the time, making the family feel complacent, just waiting for him to become a big shot in the future. So on the day of the incident, they were afraid of being implicated and always stayed behind, never saying a word in his defense.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly became unusually oppressive. All five of them sat there in silence. Palm was embarrassed because this matter involved him, and Metro was depressed. He had just been smug, thinking he had come up with a great idea, but it turned out to be a failure. After a long while, Luke was heard muttering to himself, "We have to let them know that they will get nothing without us, and we also have to let them know that their positions are unstable, and if they don't perform well, we will abandon them."
Easter immediately added, "Once they are abandoned by us, they will immediately be reduced to their original state. That's the key."
All four of them nodded subconsciously.
But today, Nice seemed to have taken some kind of madness. No matter what anyone said, he had to disagree. He coldly declared once more, "Those who are abandoned will harbor resentment, others will feel threatened, and everyone will try to secure a way out." Silence fell over the room again. Luke, Easter, and Melott all had splitting headaches. They suddenly realized that having a territory wasn't so fortunate after all; it was a huge source of trouble.
"I don't want to think about it anymore,"
Easter slapped Nice's shoulder heavily. "Whoever raises a question must offer a suggestion." "I'll give my opinion."
"Me too,"
Luke and Melott both raised their hands.
Nice looked at the three of them with frustration. If he had a better solution, he wouldn't have said such things. He also knew very well that this problem was unsolvable.
If there is a standard answer, as long as you follow that standard answer, there will definitely be a perfect country in this world. Unfortunately, this country does not exist at all.
Seeing Nice shut up, East obviously also thought of this.
"You have to at least tell us, what should we do with these people we abandoned?"
He retreated to the next best thing.
Nice has thought about this issue.
"It's very simple. Give them self-improvement and let them keep what they got before."
When Nice said this. He was thinking about his previous home, and he vaguely guessed why the servants betrayed him and why they took refuge with his relatives.
The Frankish Kingdom has a law that if all the direct heirs of a family are deceased, the property will be inherited by collateral relatives. However, this property does not include slaves; all slaves will be released on their own, and their contracts of servitude will be automatically voided.
During his most difficult time, the housekeeper who helped him didn't have this concern; her family had already redeemed their slaves on their own.
Luke, East, and Merlot were absolutely surprised by this answer from Nice.
"Isn't that too lenient with them?"
Merlot asked indignantly.
"It is indeed too generous." This time, even Merlot couldn't agree. "Generous" was a polite way of putting it; what he really meant was foolish.
Luke didn't say anything, but he clearly agreed with East's view.
Seeing that the three men couldn't accept it, Nice said quietly, "With your status and methods, do you think you can't handle a former subordinate who has fallen out of favor?"
The three men were stunned.
Nice sighed inwardly. His original intention was to establish a relaxed system. He didn't expect to gain loyalty, but only hoped to reduce betrayal.
His idea was to give most of the villagers self-governance, while those who were willing to follow them, although losing self-governance, would gain opportunities in return: opportunities to get rich, opportunities to rise in status, and opportunities to stand out. They would choose their own path, and if they chose the latter, they would have to pay the price with loyalty.
Unfortunately, before he could even voice the idea, Luke and his companions instinctively rejected it. Those in power always expect obedience from their subordinates; nobles always desire the submission of commoners. The ancient philosophers' ideals of self-criticism and equality have long been forgotten.
However, he didn't intend to give up. If something cannot be accepted, the best approach is not to abandon it, but to repackage it. For this, he had to play the villain.
Nice's expression suddenly turned sinister. He continued in a slow tone, "It's best to conceal it as if it were fate's arrangement. Once we abandon someone, that person is also abandoned by fate, such as business failure, drug addiction, or encountering a swindler... For someone of little status, there are many disasters in this world that can bankrupt them."
Metro's expression changed instantly, and even Luke and Easter gasped. Palm looked him up and down as if he had never met him before. All four of them felt a strange tremor for a long time before Luke said with a wry smile, "No wonder people often say that a hero's longsword is no match for a wise man's mind." Easter also expressed his approval from the side.
At this moment, the people who felt this most deeply were Metro and Palm. They suddenly realized that this tactic would be useful to them. If they had refused to join this team, they might have been treated poorly by the other members. "It's good that you're on our side." East patted Nice on the shoulder. Their identities and needs weren't related, so he and Nice wouldn't have any conflict of interest, and there was no need for him to make an enemy of Nice.
To be honest, he had subconsciously been thinking about whether he had offended this little guy.
"So, tell me, what's the actual plan?"
Luke said, handing the decision over to Nice. "First, you issue a statement declaring that everyone here is a self-governing people."
Nice looked at Luke, wanting to see his reaction.
"No problem." Luke was now open to anything.
"Then let those eleven people choose for themselves whether they want to serve as stewards and deacons. You can tell them they are still self-governing people, but they must swear an oath of allegiance."
Nice paused again.
"Go on,"
Luke urged. With the previous words as a foundation, he understood that those villagers couldn't possibly escape their grasp, and he no longer felt any resistance.
“Then proceed according to Metropolis’s plan, show them the world, but don’t give them any money.”
Nice added a special reminder: “Not just to Assax, it would be best to also take them to visit His Highness the Prince, but don’t let them into the mansion, keep them in the stables, just let them know where they are…” “
Brilliant.”
Metropolis gave a thumbs up. He only thought of using extravagance to lure them, but Nice thought of using power to intimidate them, which was definitely much more ingenious.
“When you return from Assax, also invite two etiquette instructors to come and teach those eleven men manners and speech.”
Nice said.
“That might not be easy.”
Metropolis scratched his head.
“I’m not asking you to actually turn them into civilized people,”
Nice suddenly realized that Metro could be quite naive at times. “I just want to make them realize that they’re unsophisticated, unpresentable, that taking them out will make you feel ashamed, and that they only deserve to stay in the stables in high society…”
East laughed heartily beside him. “I get it. You’re trying to make them think that if they’re obedient, they’ll become respectable and cultured, and then they’ll look at others the way we look at them.”
Luke and the others understood as well.
This kind of thing was very common. City people all looked down on country people, and those who came from the countryside and suffered discrimination in the city often became arrogant and looked down on their former neighbors when they returned to the countryside.
"The more you discriminate against them, the more desperate they become to become villains. So when teaching them manners, there's no need to be polite. If they don't do well, punish them severely and humiliate them."
Ness was somewhat malicious this time; he was seeking revenge.
Although those people had spoken up for him, they weren't exactly good people. They were just afraid of retaliation from the church. He had Luke give those people favors for the greater good, but naturally, he wasn't comfortable with it.
"I have a question,"
Luke interjected, "How do we make them understand that only we can give them all this?"
Ness was frustrated. Wasn't this forcing him to be the villain?
He hesitated for a moment, then finally said, "It's simple. Just find a guy who can act, have him bribe those farmers, and see how many actually choose to betray us."
This idea wasn't new. Back when he went into the mountains with Palm, he'd been thinking about putting a test on his recruits—discipline, loyalty, and courage were all essential criteria.
Everyone nodded.
This was indeed a good tactic; it could test their loyalty and also provide a negative example to warn the others.
"Actually, we don't necessarily need to create a scam. Don't we have an enemy in Asax?"
Ister reminded him from the side. This guy was also a "cunning man." "Yes, that Viscount Bellandos loves to bribe the people around us. As far as I know, he always talks a good game when he bribes people, but he never actually spends any money. Whoever falls for it is the best example."
Metro said gloatingly. He knew that viscount too well.
In the following days, Luke and his men followed the policy set by Nice. First, they announced that all the villagers were self-appointed citizens. Even the criminals were. Then, they let the eleven people choose whether they wanted to pledge allegiance to them.
The result, of course, was yes.
The people living here had always led impoverished lives, and most longed for a change of scenery. Even if it meant sacrificing some of their poverty, they would find it worthwhile to live more comfortably.
That very night, the eleven men and their families moved out of the earthen fort and onto the green field.
Over the next two days, each of the eleven men went out to recruit others. They had the power to appoint and dismiss people, and each could recruit three subordinates.
In the blink of an eye, thirty-three more men pledged their loyalty to Luke and his men. Including their wives and children, the four apprentice knights had essentially gained control of Kaoni.
As the administrators of this land, Luke and his men's first priority was winter.
The houses that had been destroyed needed to be rebuilt, firewood for winter heating needed to be prepared, and most importantly, enough food needed to be stored.
The first two tasks were easy to accomplish, as there was plenty of wood in the mountains. However, food had to be purchased from outside.
Fortunately, the autumn harvest was over, and there was a market every day, making it easy to buy whatever one wanted. Food prices were also at their lowest now.
Palm and a few others stayed to watch the estate, while Luke and the others led the rest to Admont.
It was a long caravan, with wagons following one after another. These wagons were all homemade, and due to a lack of oxen or horses, they had to be pushed by people.
Seventy-five kilometers was no short distance, and the road was difficult to traverse, requiring frequent stops and starts. In the end, it took them two full days to reach Admont.
Upon entering the town, Nice immediately sensed that it was much more lively than before.
The streets were lined with stalls displaying all sorts of things, mostly agricultural products—sacks of beans and grains piled high.
Metro stood on a large cart and called out to the people below, "Go and buy food and other winter supplies. Once you've agreed on a price, bring the people here."
"Gentlemen, how many yards of cloth can we buy? We've used up all our clothes to make armor,"
a farmer asked, his mouth watering as he stared at a nearby stall.
He wasn't alone; the others were doing the same, some eyeing the cloth stalls, others the farm tool stalls.
Metro looked at Luke. They had agreed not to give these guys too much, lest they take advantage of them. Most people were still wearing vests; he couldn't expect the villagers to spend the winter in those wooden armor stained with rat blood, could he?
"Alright, six feet of cloth each, don't forget those who didn't come,"
Metro shouted down.
"The rest of the villagers..."
another farmer asked.
Before he could finish, several feet of cloth were kicked at him.
The farmer knew he had asked a stupid question and might have offended the old men, so he shrank back, wishing he could disappear into the crowd.
Metro hesitated for a moment, then looked at Luke.
"There are some old clothes donated by others in the temple; go and get some."
Luke wasn't going to be a good Samaritan; he was taking the opportunity to create a disparity.
Those old clothes were unwanted items, many of them moldy from years of sitting in the warehouse. The difference was immediately apparent when compared to the new clothes these people were wearing.
Even with these moldy clothes, he wouldn't give them away for nothing. The villagers might be poor, but they had plenty of labor. Since they'd be stuck at home all winter anyway, they could exchange their labor for goods and clothes.
"When we get back, we'll have them help you build the church,"
Luke whispered to Nice after the villagers had all gone.
"No rush."
Nice didn't accept the favor; he already had a plan for what to do: "The first thing to build should be a sawmill. You've bought all those barren mountains around Caoni, and all that timber is yours. You don't even need to cut it down; the rats have already done it for you."
Metro got out of the taxi and shook his head, saying, "I've already seen it. This timber has been exposed to the elements for many years; it's either rotten or cracked. I'm afraid it won't fetch much."
This guy was a money-grubber; even Soul had his eye on the timber.
"It's impossible for all the wood to be rotten. There must be some usable pieces. Even the rotten wood isn't entirely useless; we can burn it into charcoal!"
Nice came up with this idea because he had burned charcoal before and knew that these dry, cracked pieces of wood were perfectly usable.
This time, Metro had nothing to say, and Luke was naturally delighted. He was worried about not having enough money. To become the manager here and to buy the surrounding barren mountains, they had already spent all their savings and even borrowed money from Marvin.
Without income, he felt uneasy. If something happened to Apdulana, they would be heavily in debt. Marvin would definitely demand they pay off the debt with the formula, and as a cautious person, Luke certainly wouldn't allow that to happen.
Beside the warehouse guarded by old man Simon, there was a row of blankets, which Nice looked at as he walked.
Most of what was sold there were grains; clearly, the closer to the edge of town, the worse the goods became. The goods around the Nangdao Temple weren't much better.
Suddenly, Nice whirled around, sensing someone watching him.
Sure enough, a shadow flickered at the alleyway entrance, and a person quickly disappeared inside. Although it was just a glimpse, he was certain it was a man.
Nice frowned. He had many enemies: his ruthless and greedy relatives, the criminals of Kaoni village, and Viscount Bellandos. Which side was the watcher on his side?
He pondered this as he pushed open the warehouse door.
The door wasn't locked, and the old man clearly knew he'd come. He locked the door behind him, crossed the warehouse, and reached the small courtyard. Nice saw the old man emerging from the room.
"You've gotten better at it again?"
Old Simon said with satisfaction. Just now, when Nice was still at the door, he had already sensed the murderous aura emanating from the young man.
"The head of the Hidden Abode helped me obtain a very powerful warrior's soul from the Inquisition..."
Nice had originally planned to ask Old Simon about it; the warrior's soul's obsession with learning and killing had always made him uneasy.
The old man listened patiently, his brow furrowing more and more deeply. He remained silent until Nice finished speaking. After a moment, he gently placed his hand on Nice's forehead.
No one else could have done this so easily, after all, it was he who helped Nice sever her consciousness, and it was he who unlocked Nice's wisdom.
After a long while, the old man finally withdrew his hand.
"I have bad news and good news. Which do you want to hear first?"
the old man asked.
"Tell me the bad news first!"
Nice was already mentally prepared.
"The bad news is that this Martial Soul is an extremely dangerous thing. If you're not careful, it will devour your consciousness."
The old man's knowledge far surpassed that of Dean Glory. Even the dean knew that the Martial Soul could devour the implantee's consciousness; how could the old man not know?
Nice's expression changed drastically: "What will happen? I won't be myself anymore? I'll become that person? He'll be resurrected through my body?"
"There's something I must tell you. The secret technique of implanting a warrior's soul was originally a byproduct of research into resurrection methods, but you won't find this in any ancient texts."
The old man hadn't planned to tell Nice this, but now that things had gone wrong, he had to.
"What will I become if my self-awareness is devoured?"
Nice was most concerned about the consequences.
"You'll still be you, but your personality will become erratic and violent, exhibiting severe symptoms of schizophrenia."
The old man spoke as euphemistically as possible; he couldn't be direct. This warrior's soul gave him a terrible feeling. Nice only saw this person's bloodlust and killing nature, yet he knew that person had already mastered the power of killing.
The ultimate goal of a priest is to solidify holiness, the ultimate goal of a mage is to touch the origin of the world, and the ultimate goal of a knight is to comprehend the elemental power of war.
The heart of slaughter belongs to the destructive branch of the elemental power of war; the ultimate goal of this branch is not only the destruction of everything, but even the destruction of the self. He was helpless against this terrifying thing; he was far from reaching that level.
"How can I prevent my consciousness from being devoured?"
Nice asked. He never imagined that even the old man was helpless; he had always believed the old man was omnipotent.
"Never use 'War Soul Resurrection,' even if you can use this divine spell, don't use it,"
the old man revealed the key point, something Dean Glorill hadn't mentioned.
The skin-peeling man wasn't intentionally framing Nesse; he was unaware of the severity of the situation and therefore wouldn't have given such a warning.
Implanting a warrior's soul was intended to awaken it using "Battle Soul Revival," instantly granting the user formidable combat power. If this divine technique couldn't be used, all the effort would be wasted.
Nesse didn't want that either, so he asked, "When I can control this warrior's soul, can I use it?"
"If that time truly comes, he won't need it anymore."
The old man gave a bitter smile. Even he himself would die instantly in front of that person. To control this warrior's soul, one would at least need to condense holiness—that would make one a saint.
A priest at this level possesses terrifying strength and power. They can summon angels single-handedly or have angels descend upon them. No one can gain an advantage in their presence; they can only flee in terror.
Nice had actually guessed this beforehand. He said helplessly, "Now you can tell me the good news."
"The good news is that this warrior's soul is very suitable for you,"
the old man said.
Nice felt very strange: "I know!"
The old man shook his head and smiled: "All the plans I devised for you have to be changed. Divine magic and magic aren't a good combination, but divine magic and martial arts are a perfect match."
He had initially thought Nice was past the age for building a foundation and wouldn't go far in martial arts, which was why he had formulated the previous plan. But now the situation had changed.
This change was something he was happy to see, because most of the Templar Knights members followed this path, so they had a lot of experience to draw upon, and more importantly, they had a large number of magical artifacts available for use.
He was pondering when to contact the Knights' liaison when he heard Nice reveal his true purpose: "I plan to go to the Inquisition."
"Why?"
The old man seemed somewhat surprised. Although going to the Inquisition was inevitable, as there was much information to be found there, it seemed far too early.
"When I was doing my lowly ministry, I encountered a magical beast. Luckily, I killed it and got a pelt."
Nice pulled the rat pelt from his back pocket.
It was a complete rat pelt; if inflated, it would still resemble the large rat.
Calvin and his men couldn't break the pelt in the end, so they had to start from the rat's mouth and turn the entire pelt inside out.
The old man glanced at it and knew what was going on. He pulled a dagger from his pocket.
It was definitely not an ordinary dagger; it looked like a cross, the blade and handle about the same length, and it didn't seem to have much wind power, but to Nice, it felt no less like a replica of the Longinus Spear that Luke and his three companions possessed.
The old man had never had one before.
After a moment's thought, he immediately understood that this must have been given to the old man for self-defense after the Templars made contact with him.
"Be careful, it will deflect attacks,"
Nice warned, not wanting the old man to hurt himself.
The old man held the dagger in one hand and took a rat skin with the other, almost wrapping the dagger in the skin. A gleaming arc of light flashed from the blade as his hand dipped slightly.
The tip of the dagger slid along his palm, spinning rapidly.
The old man felt as if his dagger was stuck in a large, rolling steel ball; he couldn't pierce it, and he couldn't exert any force. With the slightest effort, the ball would roll away.
"Good, indeed a good thing. How did you kill it?"
The old man Simon was just as curious as the others.
Ness had said it countless times, but he never got tired of it: "Simple, just like the Lionheart did."
"Don't be so reckless in the future. Monsters are not something you can handle right now."
The old man didn't even ask how. He already guessed that Ness must not have fully grasped the danger of monsters, which was why he was so reckless—similar to the situation when the young man saved him.
Ignorance is bliss; the more one knows, the less daring one becomes. A bitter expression returned to the old man's face.
He had just been figuring out how to contact the Knights Templar and get some better armor and weapons, but now it seemed all of that was unnecessary.
The Knights Templar's fighting style was more honorable, emphasizing head-on confrontation, and their armor and weapons all conformed to this style—their armor was highly defensive and quite heavy.
Niss's style, however, was to maintain distance from his opponent, circling outside their attack range, seeking an opening to deliver a fatal blow.
Reaching the ultimate level, one would become like that Warrior's Soul, possessing lightning-fast speed and complete control over throwing knives, able to ignore any defense, see through weaknesses at a glance, and strike with unerring accuracy, ensuring a fatal blow.
The old man roughly understood why Nice had sought him out, but still asked, "What do you want to know?"
"I did a divination for myself, but the result was vague,"
Nice explained, revealing his purpose.
The old man laughed. "It seems you've been having too much success lately, to the point that your confidence has inflated. Things related to the Inquisition—how could someone with your abilities possibly investigate that? I'm not even sure myself."
Despite saying this, the old man didn't intend to refuse to help. Almost
a year had passed since his escape, and his strength had returned to its peak. Furthermore, Nice certainly wouldn't go to places where serious criminals were imprisoned; those lesser places didn't have very strong divine shielding, so he should be able to discern some things.
The old man placed his hand on Nice's head once more, but this time he wasn't searching Nice's memories. Instead, he used the boy as a medium to observe the trajectory of fate.
In an instant, countless lines appeared before his eyes, trembling incessantly like wisps of tobacco blown by the wind, seemingly on the verge of being scattered or broken.
Fate is indeed like that; it can be easily altered. Even the most astute prophet cannot be 100% certain of its course, otherwise the Knights Templar wouldn't have met their current fate.
Knowing the fickleness of fate, and because the Knights' ordeal made him even more vigilant, the old man spared no effort in expending a great deal of holy power to search every line of destiny.
He needed to know if anyone was deliberately altering anything. If someone was doing so, he had to be careful; the Church might already be watching the boy.
A full hour later, the old man finally lowered his hand.
"Go," he said, "a trip to the Inquisition will greatly benefit you. You will gain much there, far more than from your journey to the Holy Land."
The old man's prophecy reassured Nice, and it also reminded him of the divination he had performed before encountering the giant rat.
The divination had predicted a tremendous gain, comparable to the rewards of his trip to the Holy Land.
He had indeed received many benefits afterward, but they still couldn't compare to those from his trip to the Holy Land. He had initially thought it was a reasonable error, but now it seemed many more benefits awaited him.
"There are actually some benefits to dealing with the Inquisition,"
the old man said, knowing Nice's promising future, and didn't mind saying a few more words. "The Inquisition is a terrible place, but as long as you don't become enemies with the people inside, it's not necessarily that terrible."
"How is that possible?"
Nice found it hard to understand.
"There are always two types of people there. One type is the fanatical, devout believers. This was the group that originally founded the Inquisition. When this institution first appeared, its intention was to uphold justice and fairness, but it quickly became corrupt..."
The old man shook his head regretfully.
From the day it was established, this institution was a sharp knife pointing inward. Its purpose was already predetermined; it would be held in the hands of some people with ulterior motives and become their tool. It was impossible for it not to become corrupt.
"And the other type of people?"
Nice asked.
The old man paused, then realized he'd been lost in thought. "Another type of person is like you—someone with no connections, yet eager to quickly rise in status and power. Joining the Inquisition and becoming a cleric are both shortcuts."
"There are quite a few shortcuts in the Church,"
Nice exclaimed with a hint of disbelief. By now, he knew of several.
Becoming a cleric, becoming a judge, joining the Inquisition, leading a church, preaching in remote areas—these were all shortcuts. Not to mention, if you had a powerful patron, you could even enhance someone's power through forced infusion of holy power, even if that person was an idiot.
"Now you finally understand the benefits of becoming a pastor!"
the old man said, half-jokingly.

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